Undertale One-shot
by Unmasking-the-Architect
Summary: Something's attacked Sans, leaving him nearly dead. This is a single scene I came up with; depending on feedback I may make it into a full story. Fluff.


_Not far now._ One hand over battered, cracking hand, clawing at the snow and sinking desperately into the cold for something to grip, anything to help drag himself closer. _Not far, come on. You can do it._ Flickering lights in the distance, a hundred thousand miles away. His hoodie was soaked, the fur lying limply as though it had given up. _Giving up sounds nice…sleep…_

 _You can't,_ chimed in another voice. _You have to get to Snowdin, you'll be safe there. You want to give up? What's the matter, Sans? Getting…cold feet?_

Even on the brink of death, he made himself smile.

* * *

He knew he died when the hand descended from the sky, gripping his shoulder to roll him onto his back. He would be judged for his sins now, numerous as they were, and he was terrified but damned if he would show that fear. He forced his eyes open, revealing slits of a muffled gray sky. A hazy figure loomed over him, the slightly ragged edge of a red scarf twitching inches above his cheek. _Huh…if this is a god, it looks weirdly like my brother. Papyrus…_ The name drifted across his mind and he let his eyes close again, letting himself think only of Papyrus. It would be nice to have some company right about now.

* * *

Was he being carried?

* * *

Hushed whispers, the nearby sound of a cheerfully crackling fire. He let his senses reach out, tentatively, seedlings breaking through frost-covered ground in search of the sun. Something soft beneath him and behind his head, a gentle pressure covering him from shoulders to feet. A bed and a blanket, neither of them his own. Shuddering throbs of pain stammering their way through his legs—his whole body hurt and ached in a way he had never known, but his legs were the worst of it.

Two hands holding tightly to his own.

Whispers.

He opened his eyes. Everyone was packed into the little room—almost everyone, a quick sweep revealed that Alphys and Mettaton were missing—and Papyrus was kneeling at his side.

"Sans!" There was such relief, such joy in that simple exclamation, and if his name hadn't been spoken he would have believed that the sentiment was meant for someone else.

"Hey," he managed weakly. "What happened?"

"After you went missing, we never stopped searching for you," Toriel told him gently. "It was Papyrus who found you several miles away, nearly buried in the snow."

"I wasn't dreaming," Sans whispered, closing his eyes. "You found me."

"I promised I would, didn't I?" Papyrus's hands tightened around his own.

"He carried you back here," Toriel continued. "All that jogging paid off; he ran all the way."

"We thought you died," Undyne chimed in, hovering near the door with her powerful arms crossed over her chest. "Papyrus cried."

Sans opened his eyes again just in time to see Papyrus's head whip around. "You did too!"

 _Crying…for me._ It didn't add up, but he was too tired to fight the confusion. "My legs…"

"You nearly destroyed yourself trying to get back," Asgore told him. He had his arm around Toriel's shoulders, and she stood relaxed at his side with only a few inches of space between them. "You've got hairline cracks all over your body, but your legs are the worst of it. Alphys and Mettaton are looking into a more successful cure, as well as trying to understand what sort of magic it was that you were attacked with." He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. The light of the fire made his mane of hair look not unlike flames licking at his face. "Toriel and I managed to heal you most of the way, but you'll stay off your feet for the next few days at least." A note of kingly authority entered his voice, defying even thoughts of disobedience, but Sans wasn't going to argue with him. He planned on never leaving this bed. It didn't matter where he was—he was back with the people that he loved, and if this was a dream he would see to it that he didn't wake.

Silence fell over the little room and Sans had nearly fallen asleep again when Undyne made everyone jump out of their skins by barking, "Don't you ever do that to us again!" He looked at her in time to see her eye narrow, her jaw clench to hide the subtle tremor in her voice. "You scared us, stupid!"

"My apologies," Sans mumbled.

Toriel's eyes gentled as she looked at him. "Let him rest," she said, stepping away from Asgore and beginning to herd everyone but Papyrus from the room. Frisk clung tightly to her other hand, wide-eyed and with their little face as solemn as Sans had ever seen it. They had nearly been shepherded out the door before they suddenly squirmed free from Toriel's grip and raced to the bed, scrambling up onto it and leaning down to give Sans a soft and careful (if slightly sticky) kiss on the forehead.

"Heh…thanks, kid." He offered up a tired smile in return and Frisk's expression turned to light. They bounced off the mattress and scampered back to Toriel, who smiled and ruffled their hair before stepping out of the room and softly closing the door.

Sans turned his attention back to Papyrus, who had remained strangely quiet throughout. "You okay?"

Papyrus stiffened. "What? I, the great Papyrus, am always…no," he said, his voice falling abruptly flat. "I thought you _died,_ Sans!"

"I heard," Sans replied. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You _cried,_ Pap?"

"Shut up, Sans."

"Aw, come on, Papyrus…"

"I would shout at you but I don't think you would listen to me."

"You're right. I wouldn't."

Quiet fell again, Papyrus's hands trembling slightly around Sans's. "I don't know what I would do if you were gone," he said in a small voice.

"Well," said Sans, "you'll have to manage for a couple hours, because I'm _dead tired._ " He pulled his other arm from beneath the blanket and finger-gunned weakly.

Papyrus let go of Sans's hand as suddenly as though he had been burned, falling back on his heels to stare at him with that special expression Sans enjoyed so much, the urge to scream mixed with annoyance and the just-as-strong desire to give up and laugh. He considered the day unsuccessful if his jokes didn't result in that face at least once.

Just when he thought that Papyrus was going to smack him into the next timeline, however, his brother had reached out and gathered Sans almost tenderly into his arms, hugging him tightly and carefully.

"Aw, jeez, Papyrus. Stop getting so sentimental—I'm fine, really." A lie, but forgivable under the circumstances. " _Dead tired,_ though. I thought you'd throttle me over that one."

"I have not ruled it out," Papyrus said in a slightly muffled voice. Sans smiled and let his eyes drift closed as Papyrus lowered him back down as though he were some fragile treasure before taking hold of his hand once more, kneeling by the bed to wait out the night.

* * *

 **Author's Note: There will be more Undertale; this one-shot will be adapted into the plot of an ongoing story: _This Great Unraveling World._**


End file.
